


Something They Can Barely See

by firethesound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Background Hermione/Percy, Crushes, M/M, Mutual Pining, Photographs, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firethesound/pseuds/firethesound
Summary: Harry has no idea how to tell his best friend he wants more that friendship. He’s pretty sure this would be hell of a lot easier if he knew for sure how Ron felt about him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the pairing! This isn't my usual ship :D
> 
> This was written for HR-Holidays in 2014 over on LiveJournal. Title comes from Weezer's "Photograph" because sometimes I think I'm terribly clever.

“Snitch, Snitch,” Harry muttered to himself as he ransacked his room. “If I were a Snitch, where the fuck would I be?”

He yanked open the top drawer of his bureau and rummaged through his socks, paused and reflected for a moment on why he thought even for a second that he might have put a Snitch into his sock drawer in the first place, then sighed and kept rummaging. He’d already looked everywhere else. And of course, as Harry wasn’t in the habit of keeping Quidditch supplies in with his clothing, he discovered that the only odd thing in his sock drawer was one lone pair of pants that hadn’t made it into the proper drawer with their mates. Harry stuffed them where they belonged, then gave that drawer a rummage as well even though the likelihood of keeping a Snitch in with his pants wasn’t much better than keeping it with his socks.

Of course, that turned up nothing as well. Harry slammed the drawer shut, stalked across the room, and began to rifle through the canvas bag where he kept all his Quidditch things. The Snitch wasn’t there, which didn’t exactly surprise him; he’d searched it five times already.

He plopped down on the edge of his bed and sighed, shoulders slumping, hands dangling lax between his knees. He closed his eyes and tried to mentally walk through Quidditch last weekend. He’d beaten Ginny to the Snitch, remembered how it felt when he’d caught the little ball of gold in his fist. He’d landed, the ground solid beneath his feet and how unbearably slow it felt to walk after zooming around on a broomstick for the better part of two hours. He remembered how he couldn’t resist mocking Ginny about his win, and she’d retaliated by tackling him from behind. He hadn’t expected it and gone down hard onto the grassy field, his hand opening when he hit the ground, the Snitch fluttering free—

And then how Ron had reached out and snagged it, then tucked it into his pocket before giving Harry a hand up. Harry had said Ron ought to play Seeker, and Ginny shoved him again, and they’d all laughed as they’d trooped into the Burrow and Mrs Weasley had served them pumpkin juice, and Harry had forgotten all about getting his Snitch back from Ron.

Until now when he needed it. Harry walked down the hall and opened the door to Ron’s room, then lingered in the doorway. Ron was always so irritable about people touching his things without permission. Growing up with six siblings constantly in his space and going through his belongings meant that being Ron’s flatmate involved very clearly drawn lines. Harry would sometimes roll his eyes over Ron’s adamancy about it, but he also did not go into Ron’s room. Ever.

Not that Harry really minded not being allowed in there. Ron never went into Harry’s room either, and in fact neither of them used their rooms as much more than a place to sleep and to keep their things. If they were both home at the same time, they tended to stay out in the living room or kitchen together. Harry just saw it as one of Ron’s quirks, much like his tendency to keep the wireless on whenever he was home regardless of whether or not he was actually listening to it, or his somewhat unexpected insistence on keeping the flat tidy. Harry had never quite figured out whether Ron simply appreciated having things neat or if a part of him was afraid Mrs Weasley might drop by unannounced and pass judgement on his housekeeping skills. Either way, Harry went along with it.

And anyhow, Ron was always so accommodating when it came to the odd things about living with Harry. Ron always left his door open at night because after six years in the Gryffindor dorms plus one more in a tent in the woods, Harry slept better when he could hear Ron’s snoring. Which, Harry could admit, was a bit of a strange thing to ask his friend for, but Ron never said two words about it. And in return, Harry respected Ron’s request to keep out of his room.

Except, Ron had gone to visit Charlie for the weekend, and Harry really _really_ needed that Snitch.

He hesitated in the doorway, his fingers curling hard around the doorframe, then he took a deep breath and stepped inside. Ron’s biggest issue with people in his space was when they messed with his belongings. And the Snitch wasn’t his, it belonged to Harry, so that didn’t even count. Right? He’d just go straight to the corner where Ron kept his Quidditch things, get the Snitch, and go right back out again. He wouldn’t touch anything else, and Ron never had to know.

Decision made, Harry walked across the room, though now that he was in here he couldn’t quite resist having a look around. Ron’s room was cozy. Cleaner than Harry’s room, though with just enough clutter to make it feel comfortably lived-in. A messy layer of papers across the top of the desk, the knitted blanket stretched hastily over the bed rather than being perfectly made, a pair of socks on the floor near the closet. And photos everywhere.

Harry paused and looked around more closely. From the swift peeks he’d had into Ron’s room from the hall, Harry hadn’t realized there were so many. In frames on the desk and on the top of the chest of drawers, and dozens tacked to the walls. Of Ron’s family, of Harry, of Hermione, from Hogwarts and from the three years after. Of all their friends and schoolmates. Harry veered slightly off-course to get a better look at the framed ones clustered atop the chest of drawers.

There was Charlie, grinning and shading his eyes as he looked up into a crisp blue sky as a dragon soared past. An older photo from Hogwarts of Fred and George laughing and shoving at each other. A picture of Harry and Ron and Hermione from last summer when they’d spent an afternoon at the seaside, relaxed and happy as they lounged on a blanket, Ron in the middle with his arms slung loosely over Harry’s and Hermione’s shoulders. The three of them again from Hermione’s birthday party, Hermione in the middle that time, mouth pursed into a small O as she blew out her candle as Harry nudged her in the side, trying to make her laugh and miss getting all of them at once, then laughing himself as Ron reached over Hermione’s head to push him away. Dean and Seamus bent over a notebook in the Gryffindor dorms, Hagrid sitting with Fang in front of his cottage, Luna smiling and posing beside a river, Neville crouched over a planter with dirt caking his hands and smudged on his forehead.

Harry smiled. Every single person in every one of the photos looked happy, and being surrounded by them all made Harry feel warm and safe and loved. He thought maybe his own room could stand a few more pictures. He wondered if Ron ever found it lonely, living with just Harry.

He turned away from the chest of drawers and started for the corner, skirting around the foot of the bed and noticing the oddity of Ron’s bedside table. There was only one picture frame there, angled sharply toward the pillow. It instantly caught Harry’s curiosity, because the only picture he’d ever arranged in that position was the one of his parents, back in school when learning more detail about them had sharpened the pain of loss from something dull and vague to something that stabbed his heart when he thought about it. He wondered who Ron cared so deeply for and missed so much that he’d put them where they’d be the last thing he saw every night and the first thing he saw each morning. For a moment he worried it was Hermione. Their break-up had been amicable enough, and Percy had even asked for Ron’s blessing before asking her out, and Ron had given it readily, and that was over a year and a half ago and everyone seemed happy enough…

Harry picked up the frame and recognized the photo immediately. It was from last Christmas, late at night after all the dinner had been eaten and the presents opened. Ron and Harry were on the sofa, sitting close together because Hermione and Percy had been squeezed onto it with them and the sofa was really only big enough to comfortably seat three. They’d left, but Harry, warm and comfortable where he was, hadn’t bothered to move. His knee leaned casually against Ron’s, their shoulders pressed snug together. Photo-Harry was looking off-camera and laughing. Hermione and Percy were dancing across the room, he remembered, with Percy futilely trying to control the dance against Hermione’s tendency to back-lead, which ended up in both of them tripping over each other’s feet.

As Harry watched, his photo-self glanced over at Ron and they shared a smile, and then Photo-Harry looked away and laughed again, and Photo-Ron’s gaze lingered on him, turning… wistful? Photo-Ron looked away, his cheeks going a bit pink when Photo-Harry’s hand brushed his thigh, and he’d put on a bright smile by the time Photo-Harry looked over at him again.

The look on Ron’s face there when he looked at Harry seemed familiar in a way that lingered just out of reach. Harry frowned, watched the picture play out again, Photo-Harry looked away, Photo-Ron’s gaze lingered on him, softened and warmed at once but with that faint edge of longing… 

And then it clicked where he’d seen that look before.

For a moment, Harry couldn’t breathe. Because it couldn’t be what it looked like. The way Ron was looking at him was the way he’d looked at Hermione back at Hogwarts. Back before they’d got themselves figured out. Back when Ron had wanted her and didn’t know what to do about it. And there was no way he felt like that about Harry.

Was there?

He took a step back and looked around the rest of the room. None of the other photographs of him and Ron were that blatant, but now that he was looking for it, it was easy to spot. A lingering glance here. A slight flush there. Ron’s arm around his shoulders, Ron leaning into him, Ron sitting a bit closer than someone who’s just friends with someone ought to sit. And Harry never thought much of it, because it was just Ron, right? And Ron was his best mate, and that’s what best mates do, yeah?

He looked back down at the photo in his hands. Photo-Ron shifted slightly where he sat, and Photo-Harry moved easily with him, settling against his side without even seeming to realize he’d done so. Harry knew better, but if he didn’t, if he were looking at a photograph of two strangers, he’d swear they were a couple.

“Oh my god,” Harry said.

Carefully, Harry set the photograph down on the bedside table, and nudged it back into place with a fingertip. He turned to the corner, sorted through the jumble of Quidditch leathers until he found the Snitch, stuffed it into his pocket and fled the room.

 

****

 

By the time Ron returned on Sunday evening, Harry had half-convinced himself he was imagining things. Ron was just _Ron_. He and Harry were just friends. That’s all there was to it.

But he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to go back into Ron’s room and take a second look at the photos.

Harry jumped when he heard Ron’s key in the lock, and barely managed to get himself settled casually back against the sofa cushions when Ron walked in.

“Hey,” he said, shutting the door after himself. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Er,” said Harry. “No.”

Ron gave him a grin and hefted a bag into view. “Great, I stopped by the Burrow before coming home and Mum sent us something. She made a roast.”

“Er,” said Harry. “That’s good.”

Ron paused in toeing off his shoes. “What’s wrong?” he asked with a frown.

Harry jumped a bit. “What? Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think anything’s wrong?”

“Because I said Mum made a roast and sent some over and you’re not in the kitchen yet?” Ron’s frown deepened. “You love her roast.”

Harry sprang off the sofa. “Yeah, I do. I’m…” Oh god, what the hell was wrong with him? This was just Ron, and everything was _fine_. He took a deep breath. “Just a bit of a headache, actually. It’s fine. I’m… fine.”

He trailed after Ron and fetched plates and cutlery while Ron unpacked the bag onto the table. Ron served them up while Harry opened a couple of butterbeers, and they sat down to dinner.

“Thanks,” Harry said, leaning over his plate and taking a big deep breath, savoring the steam rising from his plate. He’d wheedled all his favorite recipes from Mrs Weasley, but they never came out quite as good as when she cooked.

“I know it’s your favorite,” Ron said with a smile, eyes on his plate. He speared a chunk of potato with his fork. “And you know Mum’s always on about how skinny you are.” He popped the potato into his mouth and chewed, the pink tip of his tongue darting out to lick away a smudge of gravy that clung to his lower lip, and Harry’s heart thumped. He frowned at looked up at Harry. “Are you sure you’re all right? I can get you something for your headache, if you need.”

Harry averted his eyes, staring down at his own plate. “No, I’m fine. Really.”

Ron’s fork clinked against his plate as he lay it down. “Because normally you protest that you’re not skinny, you’re—”

“I know,” Harry said, glancing up and trying out a smile. “But I could double my weight and your mum would still say that. I swear she looks at me and still sees a scrawny twelve-year-old.”

“Yeah, probably.” Ron snorted and took a swig of his butterbeer, head tipped back to expose the long line of his throat, and Harry thought about what it might be like to kiss it.

Weird, probably. It'd probably be weird. Wouldn't it?

“How’s Charlie?” Harry asked, steering them onto the nice safe topic of family while he tried to sort out what the fuck was wrong with him. “Still in love with his dragons, I assume?”

Ron talked as they ate, and then they cleared up the kitchen, packed the leftovers into the fridge and did the washing up. They fell into their usual routine, Harry scrubbing the dishes in a sinkful of soapy water while Ron dried and put away, and they talked a bit about their Auror classes and whether they might try to get a group together to go out next weekend, and it all felt perfectly normal.

Harry probably had imagined it, he thought. It’d been a while since he’d been out with anyone and it was probably making him think things that weren’t there. Ron didn’t like him that way. Ron was Ron, and that was that.

When Ron went to take a shower, Harry crept into his room and looked at the Christmas photo again. The one where they looked like a couple. They looked so comfortable together. Happy. Harry wondered what it might be like if it were real. Ron was fit, Harry had two working eyes in his head and a healthy libido, he could certainly see that Ron was attractive. But he was also Harry’s best mate and Harry had never considered him an option before. Although now, looking at this…

He watched it for a minute, trying to ignore the tiny curl of wistfulness that sparked in his chest as the Ron in the picture smiled at his photo-self. Then he left the room and was tucked snugly into his bed by the time the shower turned off.

 

****

 

The weeks that followed were difficult. On the surface, nothing changed. Harry and Ron went to their Auror classes together, came home and made dinner together. Sometimes they’d watch something on the television, sometimes they’d listen to the wireless. Occasionally they’d go down the street and have a pint or two at the pub. They went to the Burrow on Sundays and played Quidditch every other Saturday, and spent time with their friends. They did chores around the house and studied for their classes and played the occasional game of chess.

But now Harry did it all while noticing how strong Ron’s hands looked and wondered how they’d feel to be touching him. How blue Ron’s eyes were, and how they grew warm when he looked at Harry. He wanted to run his fingers through Ron’s hair. He lost whole hours contemplating the feel of Ron’s lips against his.

It was driving him mad.

He’d never thought of Ron that way before, but ever since seeing that photo, the idea of it had taken root in his mind and wouldn’t stop growing.

The worst of it was, he had no idea whether it was real or not. When Harry had figured out he liked men as well as women, he’d told Ron right away. How could he not? Ron was his best mate, of course he’d tell him. If Ron liked men too, wouldn’t he have said? He shared everything with Harry, every silly childhood anecdote, every embarrassing dream. Everything.

So Harry couldn’t say anything to Ron because what if he didn’t feel that way about Harry? He knew Ron wouldn’t be upset with him, certainly wouldn’t be disgusted or anything so terrible as that. But he might be made uncomfortable by Harry’s interest in him, and the idea of making their friendship awkward made Harry’s stomach twist. Ron was the most important person in his life. He couldn’t do anything to jeopardize their friendship.

But… what if he found a way to let Ron know? Subtly, very subtly. He could show Ron that he was interested, but in such a way that Ron could ignore it if Harry was wrong. Harry would push a little, and if Ron pushed back, then Harry would know. Right?

This stroke of brilliance occurred to Harry late on a Friday night. He and Ron had just finished up their dinner of takeaway curry and settled in on the sofa for a quiet evening at home. They’d put on a movie, and Ron was leafing distractedly through one of his books for class.

Harry got up and went to the kitchen for another butterbeer, cracked it open and downed several long gulps while he steeled his nerves. He took a deep breath, held it, let it go. Then marched back into the living room and plopped down on the sofa much closer to Ron than he’d been before. Before he lost his nerve, he heaved a big sigh and leaned close, resting his head on Ron’s shoulder.

Ron went stiff. “You okay?”

“Just tired,” Harry mumbled, feeling very awkward and a little bit ridiculous. But this was his plan and he was carrying it out. He was _committed_. And also, if he took his head off Ron’s shoulder he’d be forced to see the look on Ron’s face, and he wasn’t sure he could handle that.

Ron didn’t move for a long minute, then he stood up and went into the kitchen. Harry heard the fridge open and close, the pop of a bottle cap coming loose. Then footsteps and Ron took his seat again.

Pressed right up to the arm of the sofa, as far away from Harry as he could get.

Harry did his best to ignore the swell of disappointment.

He didn’t try again.

 

****

 

“So,” said Harry, flopping into the armchair and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

Ron didn’t get up from where he was stretched out on the sofa, just flipped his book closed, one finger stuck between the pages to mark his place, and he reached out and used it to shove Harry’s feet off the table. “No shoes,” he said.

Harry rolled his eyes, but obediently toed off his shoes before putting his feet back up. “So,” he said again.

“So what?”

“I was just thinking,” Harry said. His stomach fluttered with anticipation and he forced himself to go on, “It’s been a long time since you and Hermione broke up.”

Ron flipped a page. “And?”

“And, I was just wondering…” Harry’s nerves nearly undermined his courage here, and he forced himself to go on. “I was just wondering if you were thinking about dating again.”

Ron let the book flop forward onto his chest and craned his neck to look at Harry, his brows drawn together in a frown. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Nowhere,” Harry said quickly. He picked at a loose thread on the arm of his chair. “Nothing. Just. I was… curious. It’s been a long time, is all.”

“It’s been a long time since you were with Ginny,” Ron pointed out reasonably.

“I’ve been with people since Ginny,” Harry said.

“Yeah, but not seriously. The occasional one night stand doesn’t count.”

“Have you, er,” Harry began. “I mean…”

“No,” said Ron, taking up his book again. “Maybe once we make Auror, but it’s more trouble than it’s worth right now.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He chewed his lower lip. “It’s just. Well. I’m surprised you haven’t found someone yet. I mean, you’re…”

Ron looked at him again. “I’m what?”

Handsome, Harry wanted to say. Captivating. Charming. Perfect.

“Because you’re you,” is what came out of his mouth instead.

“Where’s all this coming from?” Ron asked. “Is this… is there someone you’re interested in?”

“I…” Harry began, mind spinning as he tried to do too many things at once. Admit there was. Deny there was. Watch Ron for any sign of jealousy.

“Because if there is, you shouldn’t feel bad to date just because I’m not with anyone right now.” And he turned back to his book again. “Don’t hold yourself back because you think I won’t know what to do with a bit more free time. Might be nice to get away from you for a bit, actually.” Ron gave him a grin to let him know he didn’t really mean that last bit.

“I… Okay,” Harry said helplessly.

He suppressed a sigh. That hadn’t helped him at all.

 

****

 

Harry’s next plan was a bit bolder. Normally he took his clothes with him into the bathroom when he showered. Today he didn’t. For a moment, he contemplated walking out naked, but in the end he tucked a towel around his waist and waited for footsteps in the hall before he opened the door.

“Thank Merlin, you took forever in there,” Ron said.

“Sorry,” Harry told him.

A droplet of water fell from Harry’s hair to his shoulder where it clung for a moment before sliding down over his collarbone. Ron’s eyes flicked to it and then away. Too quickly for Harry to tell whether that quick glance meant anything. He felt like growling in frustration because he was sick of second-guessing himself.

Fortune favors the bold, Harry reminded himself, and let the towel slip a few inches.

“I left breakfast in the kitchen for you under a Warming Charm. You should get dressed before you catch cold,” Ron said, his eyes never straying below Harry’s chin.

And then he turned and stepped into his bedroom, leaving Harry standing shivering in the hallway.

 

****

 

At times like these, Harry wished he’d been sorted into Slytherin. Maybe he would have learned how to be properly sneaky and cunning.

Because what he was trying now? Clearly wasn’t working.

It was too timid, he knew. Helplessly adolescent and more than a little muddled. But the Gryffindor approach would be something along the lines of blurting out his attraction. Maybe just grabbing Ron and kissing him. And Harry couldn’t bring himself to do that.

So he called in the reinforcements.

“Gin,” Harry said. “I need your help.”

He explained his newest plan.

Ginny only raised her eyebrows at him. “Doesn’t this strike you as a little juvenile? Why don’t you just tell him?”

“Yeah, but…” Harry sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “Look, Ron’s my best mate. I have feelings for him, but his friendship’s more important and I just… don’t want to screw that up.”

“Harry,” she sighed. “Dating didn’t screw up our friendship, did it? You can’t be afraid that—”

“No. It’s not that,” Harry said. “I mean, we’re practically dating right now. We live together, we spend all our free time together, this’ll work. I know it will. If we get together, we’d just be adding sex.” Harry quirked a smile when Ginny pulled a face. His smile faded quickly. “But he hasn’t even said if he likes men, and I… I just need more to go on, you know?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she sighed. “Fine. I’ll help. Anything to stop you mooning over him.”

“Thanks, Gin, you’re the… Wait, mooning?”

“It’s bloody obvious,” she said. “Honestly, I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed himself.”

“Exactly,” Harry said miserably. “This is why I need help. Because if I’m that obvious, and he’s noticed, wouldn’t he have said something if he feels the same?”

They put the plan into action that weekend after their bi-monthly Quidditch game. Ginny took lots of pictures and Harry made sure to stand very close to Ron.

 

****

 

The picture was perfect. Photo Ron was flushed and grinning, triumphant after his team’s win, and Photo-Harry kept sneaking little sideways peeks at him, his own cheeks flushing pink as he hurriedly looked away every time Photo-Ron turned toward him. He looked helplessly and utterly smitten.

There were a few others in the batch Ginny owled to him. Innocent ones of them on their brooms, players zipping around against the bright blue sky. Several of George and Ginny, one of Ron by himself. But Harry left the smitten-looking one on top of the pile, and left the pile on the kitchen table and took himself off to his bedroom a few minutes before he knew Ron would get home.

He heard the Floo flare, and nearly ran out there to intercept him. He waited as he heard Ron kick off his shoes and walk into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea as he always did after he got home. Harry had already put the kettle on for him, as he always did.

He gave Ron a minute to notice the pictures, then hurried into the kitchen. He felt nervous and anxious in a way he rarely did, and was glad of it. The pictures in and of themselves were a big hint, but it would be Harry’s reaction that’d really sell it.

He didn’t have to fake his embarrassment when he rounded the corner and found Ron with the top photo in hand.

“Er,” he said, hesitating.

Ron looked up at him, down at the photo, up at him. “These are from last week?”

“Er,” Harry said again. “Yeah? I mean, yeah. They are. I wasn’t. Ginny sent them, and I was just…” He swiped a hand through his hair, felt his cheeks warm as he pictured it in his mind, the lovesick way he was watching Ron behind Ron’s back. God, this plan was as bad as the rest, wasn’t it? He never should have. “I was going to, um.”

For a long moment they looked at each other in silence.

“Were you going to… tell me?” Ron asked carefully, putting the picture back down.

It occurred to Harry that he had a choice here. Ron hadn’t said anything distinct. Harry could deny everything, play dumb and walk away and Ron would probably let him. Exactly as Ron had been doing all along. Deliberately misinterpreting signals. Deliberately ignoring Harry’s (admittedly clumsy) attempts at flirting. Prioritizing their friendship over any chance of something more. Exactly as Harry had done.

“God,” he said, “I think we’re both idiots.”

Ron blinked at him. “What?”

“You were asking me if there was someone I was thinking of dating,” Harry said, trying to ignore the way his stomach trembled. He’d slain a basilisk when he was twelve, Harry reminded himself. Stolen a dragon. Faced down a Dark Lord. He could ask out his best friend. “And there is.” Ron’s face sank, bitter disappointment writ plain across it for an instant before he got his features back under control. Harry’s heart soared, because _yes_. “Ron, this is going to sound bloody stupid considering we’re living together. But can I take you to dinner tonight?”

The way Ron’s eyes went round and his mouth dropped open was, frankly, comical. “What? Me?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I like you. And I want more. I think we could be really good together.” There, he’d said it.

Ron was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Harry began to worry he’d been the one misinterpreting signals. What if he’d been wrong after all? What if Ron really didn’t feel that way about him? What if—

“Do you really mean that?” Ron asked finally. His eyes were bright with a desperate sort of hope that made Harry’s heart ache.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping forward. His voice came out low. “Yeah, I do.”

Ron stepped in to meet him, and Harry tilted his chin up and Ron tipped his chin down, and just like that they were kissing.

Harry would have thought it’d feel weird to kiss his best mate, but instead it just felt _right_. Like they belonged. Ron’s lips were soft and warm against his, exploring the shape of Harry’s mouth with a gentle sort of insistence. The kiss heated slowly as Ron’s arms came around him, stroking up and down his back, and Harry slipped his arms around Ron as well. God, this was brilliant. Why the hell hadn’t they done this sooner?

“So,” Harry said, breaking the kiss and pulling back while he could still think straight. “Dinner?”

“After that, I don’t think I can make it through dinner,” Ron said. “But I’ll make you breakfast.”

“You make me breakfast all the time,” Harry couldn’t help pointing out. He tightened his arms around Ron’s waist.

“You know bloody well what I mean,” Ron said with a laugh.

“Yeah, but I’d like to hear you say it,” Harry said, tipping his chin up again.

But Ron didn’t say it. Instead he kissed Harry again, and it was a very long time before either of them said anything at all.


End file.
